


The Truth

by callboxkat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18, Angst with a Happy Ending, But different, Despair, Happy Ending, M/M, Season 15, the confession scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callboxkat/pseuds/callboxkat
Summary: The confession scene between Castiel and Dean ends a little differently.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Destiel
Comments: 13
Kudos: 201





	The Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the dialogue comes from this transcript: http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/15.18_Despair_(transcript)
> 
> I chose to begin the story with the scene in Billie's library. That part mostly aligns with canon, but I feel it provides important context for the confession.

“I'll let you in on something,” Billie says, her hand just barely keeping her own scythe away from her throat. She stands pressed against the wall of her library, where endless bookshelves stretch in either direction, each one containing hundreds of tomes, each one detailing someone’s death. She seems unconcerned by the blade’s closeness—and she has reason not to be. She focuses on Dean, ignoring the angel behind him. “When you cut me… that little nick? It was fatal.” She grimaces. “Something I can't survive. See for yourself.”

She reaches with her free hand and pulls aside her coat—or rather, peels it back from where it sticks to her flesh, which has turned a necrotic green, visibly rotting away. The ugly wound has spread from the cut on her shoulder across part of her chest, stretching down under her sleeve to an unknown extent. The infection seems to spread even in the moment before she allows the coat to fall back into place.

Dean falters slightly. Because Billie is right. That wound does not look survivable—that wound is death itself. Dealt by a blade that the previous Horseman had once said could reap God Himself. But he keeps the scythe at her throat—dying or not, Dean knows better than to lower it.

He may have made a mistake, coming here.

Billie places her other hand on the scythe, glaring.

“You killed me, Dean. So yeah, no. I don't care about your friends. I don't care about your family. But seeing you here _has_ reminded me of something.” Her grimace of a smile widens, and she inhales sharply. “There is one thing I'd like… one wish, before I go _. I'd like to see you_ _dead.”_

Dean’s expression hardens.

Billie suddenly shoves the scythe aside and surges forward, backhanding Dean with her right hand. Cas lunges forward to catch him. They both move towards Death—to do what, against her, neither knows—but Billie has already taken hold of her scythe and stands tall, powerful even as she grows closer to her end. She slices the scythe, Castiel and Dean barely lurching back in time to avoid it. Both men’s eyes are wide. This is not going to plan, not at all.

Billie smiles.

She thrusts out a hand and the angel and human are flung back, flying between two stark gray bookcases to land harshly on their backs. A single book on one shelf falls over, opening to blank pages.

Castiel and Dean struggle to their feet, Cas with one hand on Dean’s arm. He doesn’t seem to realize having done so, and keeps it there. Dean does notice, but he doesn’t mind. He reaches for Cas, as well.

Billie waits for them to get back up, standing there with her scythe. She is in no rush. She has a little time, for this. Maybe she’ll even kill the pet angel, first. Make Dean watch, before she claims him, too.

“I'm _so_ glad you came.”

She stalks leisurely forward, amused as Dean and Cas dash down the row of bookcases, trying to get away. Yes, revenge is the perfect way to spend her final moments. Their fear alone is quite satisfying to watch. She follows her targets, smiling.

They manage to make it back to the door they’d so foolishly opened to reach her, and dash through the portal. It blends seamlessly back into the normal wall of the library as they close the portal.

No matter, Billie thinks. The chase is half the fun.

…

Dean and Cas run through the door, Cas slamming it shut behind them. The wall returns to regular brick. They are back in the bunker.

“Come on,” Dean says, reaching for Cas, already walking. Cas follows closely behind.

They know they are still not safe. Billie isn’t called Death, a Horseman, for nothing. Very few things can get in this bunker uninvited, but Dean is sure she is one of the ones that can.

Dean makes it to the map room, walking agitatedly. Because anything is better than just standing there, waiting for her to come. Dean spins around as he walks, searching for something, anything that can keep Death itself at bay. “Come on, Dean. Think, think!”

As Dean continues walking, searching, Cas speaks up, holding his hands out to the sides.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“I—I don’t know!”

“You know she can find us anywhere.”

Dean turns to him, desperate. “I know, I know that! I just....” He paces, then pauses opposite the angel.  
His voice quietens. “What do we do, Ca–“

Dean gasps, cut off by a shock of pain in his chest, like something has clawed its way inside and has sealed around his heart like a vice. There is a roaring in his ears, electricity in the air. The temperature drops several degrees.

Billie is here.

Dean groans, dropping to his knees, clutching his chest. Castiel stares in shock.

Billie stands behind him on the balcony above, one hand holding her scythe, the other held up, slowly clenching into a fist. She watches as Dean writhes. She is doused in shadow, but her satisfaction is palpable. Castiel knows she is smiling.

“Billie,” Cas says aloud. He looks at her, then drops to Dean’s side, taking him by the shoulders and trying to help him up.

“My heart—” Dean gasps, his voice gravelly with pain. “My heart. I can feel her.”

Billie, on the balcony, smiles wider. Her rotting, gnarled hand clenches further, trembling. The power it takes to do this, to kill even this one human slowly, is draining her—she is quite close to the end now—but it is worth it, worth edging to her grave that much faster. Oh, is it worth it.

“Come on, Dean, we’ve gotta go,” Cas says. He can’t stop Billie, not right now, not like this. He has to get Dean out of there, somewhere they have time to think, to come up with _something_. He will not let Dean die like this. “Come on.”

He gets Dean on his feet and bears most of his weight as he guides the man down the hall, away from Billie, moving as fast as they can. Dean continues to groan in pain, but he is just as determined. 

Billie, meanwhile, steps lightly down the stairs, taking her time, her injured hand still outstretched. Bits of bone are visible now. She seems not to mind. She simply follows, relishing this moment.

“It's you, Dean,” Billie calls. “It's always been you. Death-defying. _Rule-breaking_. You are everything I lived to set _right_. To _put down_. To _tame_. You are human disorder incarnate.”

Cas and Dean hurry on, passing by the tables, the useless telescope, the books upon books of lore that probably wouldn’t have helped even _if_ they had time to search for something, anything, that would help.

Billie clenches her hand again and Dean collapses against a wall. Cas touches his shoulders, worried, terrified. They are briefly hidden from Billie’s view by a row of bookshelves. But she continues forward, relentless. Castiel looks over his shoulder towards her voice and the sound of her all-too-calm footsteps.

Cas heaves Dean up and they disappear downstairs, Cas now practically carrying Dean through the halls of the basement level. Dean still clutches his heart. Neither of them knows how much longer he will last if nothing changes.

“I’ve got you,” Cas says, half to himself.

Billie follows them here, too. Her scythe taps on the floor with every other step, almost like a cane. Small cracks appear in the floor each place it touches. Even the concrete, infused with warding magic as it is, is not immune to its power.

“Come on, Dean,” Billie says, her voice echoing down the hall. “You can't escape me.”

She drags the blade of her scythe against the tile wall. Cracks and an ashen color spread from the tip of the blade, like a spreading infection. Sparks fly, flaring in the dimness.

Ahead of her but still far too close, Castiel and Dean hurry on, the grinding of the blade against the wall grating on their ears. Dean would cover his ears, but he can only manage another wince, one arm wrapped around Cas’s shoulder, the other clutching his chest.

Billie is having fun, toying with them. She strolls further forward, ignoring the infection clawing its way further up her chest, spreading like ink in water up her neck. “Don't you think it's finally time? Time for the sweet release of Death?”

Cas and Dean make it into the main storage room, and Cas slams the door shut behind them. Dean, released, stumbles to the side, only to be quickly steadied by his companion. Still, Dean doubles over, coughing, wheezing, holding his chest, leaning heavily on one of the shelving units. Billie’s vice grip continues to tighten. His vision is filled with black spots.

Cas finds a pocket knife in Dean’s back pocket—he knows his hunter well, and Dean would never be without one—and uses it to slice into his own palm. He then paints a bloody sigil on the door. It flares with light as Castiel finishes drawing. There is no such thing as warding for Death itself, but this is the closest and most powerful sigil he knows. He can only hope it will work. It has too.

As the glow of the sigil fades and its magic takes effect, Dean’s shoulders slump; and he takes in a deep breath, the pain fading. He straightens, leaning on the shelves.

“Thank you,” he gasps.

“It worked?” Cas asks, hardly believing it.

Dean swallows hard and nods once.

“It blocked her grip on you,” Cas observes, relieved, but not relaxing just yet.

Billie slams her fist into the door. It shudders, but does not yield.

Cas turns to look, and seeing that the warding is holding, looks back to Dean. He looks to one side, then the other, thinking. “Dean, she said that wound was killing her. Maybe we can wait her out.”

Dean drops his hand from his chest and levels a look at Cas. “Yeah, and if we can't?

Cas sets his jaw, his angel blade appearing in his hand. “Then we fight.”

Billie’s fist slams into the door again. The warding flares with light. Not quite so bright, this time.

Dean notices, and shakes his head. “We'll lose.” He looks around the storage room, at the solid walls, the single exit. He wanders over to the devil’s trap laid into the floor, and runs a hand along the back of the chair there. “I just led us into another trap,” he says, not needing to gesture at the literal prison they stand in.

 _Slam_. The warding flares. Weaker.

“All because I couldn't hurt Chuck. Because I was angry, and because I just needed something to kill, and because that's _all I know how to do_.”

Cas takes a step forward, his heart breaking, because that’s not true at all. “Dean...”

 _Slam_. Weaker.

Dean scoffs, his gaze darting to the door and back to Cas. “It was Chuck all along. We shouldn't have ever left Sam and Jack. We should be there with them right now.” His voice breaks, and his eyes are shining now, only making Castiel’s heart ache further. “Everybody's gonna die, Cas. Everybody. I never… I never even got to apologize to Jack. The kid probably still thinks I hate him. And Sam—I’ll never see Sam again.” He shakes his head. “I can't stop it. She's gonna get through that door.”

 _Slam_. Weaker still.

Castiel’s angel blade disappears. He looks down. “I know,” he admits quietly.

“And she's gonna kill you, and she’ll make me _watch_. And _then_ she's gonna kill me.” Slowly, he didn’t need to add. And everything, everything, is going to just… end.”

 _Slam_. Weaker still. Cas looks over his shoulder, thinking. A part of him tells him that Dean is right, that this situation is hopeless. It might be different if he still had his wings, if he could take them somewhere, anywhere else, just for a little more time, enough to wait Billie out. It would be different if Jack was there, and if Jack still had his powers. There was a time when he was powerful enough—but their failed attempt to kill God has left Jack nearly powerless. His grace seemed barely strong enough to keep him alive.

 _Slam_.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, a desolate resignation in his eyes.

But a thought has occurred to Castiel: _Jack._

He pauses, staring ahead, thinking. “Wait, there is.... There's _one thing_ she's afraid of. There's one thing strong enough to stop her.” He looks up and sees Dean staring at him.

Dean Winchester. Beautiful as ever.

Cas takes a breath, steadies himself, and decides. He looks Dean in the eye, suddenly strangely calm.

 _Slam._ Cas barely hears it.

Dean senses the change in tone and frowns, waiting for Cas to continue. Which he does.

“When Jack was dying, I… I made a deal, to save him.”

Dean is taken aback. Of all the things he might have expected Cas to say, this was not one of them. “You _what?”_

He looks at Dean, almost pleading. This is the moment, he knows. “The p—the price was my life. When I experienced a moment of true happiness, The Empty would be summoned, and… it would take me. Forever.

Dean stares for a moment, processing. A moment they do not have. Billie’s fist slams, again, into the door.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Dean asks. He has a bad feeling about where this might be going, and he does not like it.

Cas smiles, tears already collecting in his eyes. “You know, I always wondered… ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered… what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer, because the one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have. I’ve always known, I think. But I think I know... I think I know, now.” He smiles, a tear rolling down his cheek. His voice breaks. “Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just _being_. It's in just saying it.”

Dean doesn’t know how to even begin to process this. “What are you talking about, man?”

Behind them, Billie continues her attack on the warding. But it holds, for now. And neither Cas nor Dean notices her anymore. Not really. This is their moment, not hers.

Castiel steps closer, looking at Dean earnestly. Willing him to understand, to believe him. “I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're “daddy's blunt instrument.” And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's _not_. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for _love_. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. _That is who you are_. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, _loving_ human being I will ever know.” Castiel smiles. He’s crying, and he doesn’t care. “You know… ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... knowing you has changed me.”

Dean blinks hard and looks down at the floor.

“Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world, because of _you_.” He takes another step forward. “You changed me, Dean.”

Dean clears his throat and speaks, quietly. Because he knows, he knows what is happening, and he knows what Cas plans have happen. But he asks, anyway. Because he doesn’t want to believe it. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Cas just gives him a soft look. “Because it is.”

Dean takes in a breath, to say what, he doesn’t know, but Cas cuts him off. He’s practically radiant with joy, at finally saying it. At speaking his truth, after all these years. Because even if he can’t have Dean, Dean will know.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m in love with you.”

Dean’s mouth opens. Closes. He stares. His voice is choked. “Cas, I… Please, don’t do this.”

Time has run out. Behind Dean, the spine-chilling sound of the Empty grows, black goo squeezing through the bricks of the wall, tendrils branching out into this world. Dean’s mouth opens as he turns around, staring at the rapidly opening portal, all too aware of what this means. There are tears in his eyes, now.

Castiel knows, too. He is still smiling. Still joyful. Radiant. Because he’s finally said it. After twelve years. He spoke his one, deepest truth. He is ready.

Dean’s mind is running a million miles a minute. “Cas….”

Billie has broken through the warding. The door swings open, and she steps through, grinning. The necrosis of what were once small wounds has spread, eating away at her arm, her chest, her neck. The hand that was cut by the scythe is practically skeletal, now. What is visible of her chest is little more than bone, gaps visible between them and ribbons of gray-green flesh. Yet her grip on her scythe remains steady.

She hasn’t seen the Empty, yet.

Cas ignores both entities, focused only on Dean. His eyes shimmering with tears, he steps forward, and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

But Dean isn’t quite ready for a goodbye, yet.

“No!” Dean says. He grabs Cas’s hand—the cut one—and shoves Cas aside. Cas is so surprised by the turn of events that it works, and he stumbles, not quite falling, staring at Dean, confused, now. There’s a bloody hand print on his shoulder, just where the now-faded mark was on Dean’s shoulder, from when Cas raised him from Perdition.

Billie steps further into the room. And then she sees the Empty. Her expression falters, her head tilting to the side. “Oh….”

She doesn’t finish. The black slime of the Empty slams into her, climbing and crawling and _consuming_ until nothing is left but a ball of blackness; and then Death herself is sucked into the Empty.

Gone. Forever.

Cas smiles at Dean, a small, knowing smile. One of relief that Dean is safe, but also resignation. Because the Empty is still here to collect its prize. Because nothing has changed.

Except that it has.

Billie’s scythe remains. It falls, its owner gone, blade swinging down to the ground.

Dean catches it.

In one sweeping motion, before Cas or anyone else can react, he swings the weapon around and sinks the entire blade into the Empty, just as it begins to surge towards Cas.

This blade could kill Death itself with one little cut. Death, the old Death, had once said that this scythe could reap God Himself.

The Empty… stops. It freezes, still reaching out towards Cas, but goes no further.

It pulses.

Dean lets go of the scythe, steps back, towards a stunned Castiel, and grabs the angel’s trench coat in one hand without looking at him. His face is slack with shock as what he has just done. With fear that it won’t work.

The scythe turns black. A black so dark that it’s like a hole in the fabric of the world—just like the Empty.

The Empty pulses.

Cracks begin to spread, radiating from the sunken blade. The cracks seem to leak a faint, fragile light.

And then the Empty explodes.

…

Dean is alive.

He is pretty sure of this, at least. He doesn’t think his head would hurt so much, if he were dead. Unless Chuck thought it would be funny to send him back to Hell, or to Purgatory. Which is a distinct possibility.

So, perhaps pain doesn’t rule out death as much as it might for anyone else. But Dean really doesn’t think he is dead.

He hears a cough, from somewhere nearby. Dean opens his eyes.

He is lying on the floor of the bunker’s storage room, dust motes drifting in the air. His head pounds. His ears are ringing. He slowly sits up, feeling faintly punch-drunk.

The Empty is gone, as is Billie. The shelving units, lore, and supplies of the store room have all been blown back by the force of the explosion, and lie crumpled against the walls, bottles broken, precious artifacts crushed, pages strewn across the floor.

Dean is not alone in the room.

A body lies on its side beside him, clad in a trench coat, facing away from him.

 _“Cas?!”_ Dean asks loudly, his voice cracking.

Castiel groans. He shifts, and Dean feels relief—and anger, and so, so much more—wash over him. He rushes to Cas’s side and turns him onto his back, searching his face.

They’re alive. They’re both alive. Billie is gone, the Empty is gone, and they are both alive.

Cas blinks up at Dean from the floor, blue eyes wide. Dust and a bit of blood are streaked across his face. “Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean sighs. He looks around the demolished room.

“Are they… gone?” Cas asks. He seems oddly distant. Dean can relate.

“Yeah… yeah, I think so. Come on—get up.”

Dean and Cas both struggle to their feet and dust themselves off. Dean pats away a bit of dust from Cas’s lapel, and Cas watches the gesture, silent.

Then Dean jabs his finger into Cas’s chest, hard, and fixes him with a hard glare. Cas looks down at the finger, then stares back up at Dean, dumbfounded.

Dean’s voice shakes with anger. “Don’t you ever—ever—do something like that again! Do you hear me, damnit?”

Cas stares, his mouth slightly open.

“…Dean, I…”

“Did you really think I was going to let you do that? Just—just drop that on me, and—and die? How could you something like that to me? That is not okay, Cas!”

Cas continues to stare.

Dean stops, scoffs, and lowers his hand. He looks Cas over for a moment—living, breathing, Cas—thinking. And then he swallows, and nods. “We are not done talking about this,” he promises firmly.

And then, because today has gotten crazy enough, pulls the angel forward, and kisses him.

Dean releases the stunned angel a second later. “Now let’s go find Sam, and our kid.”

They still have a God to defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> One additional tidbit I want to make clear: This alteration does, in my story, mean that Dean doesn't die on a piece of rebar. Cas goes with on the vampire hunt-the vampires do not, by the way, wear weird skull masks-and while Dean does get impaled, Cas is able to save him. And when Jack has time, he returns to visit his fathers.  
> (Dean still has a dog, because Miracle was the best part of the episode.)


End file.
